


Jenna's War I: Screw Up

by gelbes_gilatier



Series: Jenna's War [1]
Category: Star Wars: Rebellion Era - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Desert, Friendship, Gen, Soldiers, Teamwork, War, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2012-09-19
Packaged: 2017-11-14 14:35:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/516240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gelbes_gilatier/pseuds/gelbes_gilatier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away... there were also people who were neither Jedi nor smugglers nor bounty hunters nor anything else as glamorous as that. Private Jenna Melara, infantry soldier for the Alliance, was one of them. Here's her story.</p><p>Or, the first story, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at fanfiction.net and LJ so if this looks familiar to you, it probably is ;) Inspired by _Soldier_ on ff.net by alaskanspartan and I really hope he will finish it one day... Anyway. Does anyone know really good OC Star Wars fics? I want to read them but I just can't find any :(

** Screw-Up  **

_“Never win first place,_  
 _I don't support the team_  
 _I can't take direction,_  
 _and my socks are never clean.”_

_Pink, “Don’t let me get me”_

 

** One  **

 

Yeah, that’s me; Private Jenna Melara, major screw-up, pleased to meet you. First I begged Corporal Nalan – who happens to be, like, six years my junior – not to let me die, like some terrified girl in a trashy holovid. Then I almost lost my lunch over the stench of decay, which I should be used to by now, and acted like a schoolgirl with a frigging crush in front of said Corporal. _And,_ to top it all off, I almost got myself killed with my own frigging blaster rifle on the shooting range. Just. Frigging. Great.

 

“Hey Melara, how are you doing? Still being a lazy bum?” Oh, and here comes my own personal nemesis: Private Xanas Farrayn III, called Nas for short. Okay, so he isn’t _really_ my nemesis; it’s just that he seems to have taken a certain liking to me and has been following me around a lot. Thing is, I don’t want to be followed around, and I _certainly_ don’t want anyone to take a liking to me… not like that. We are at war, people die. You get attached to them, and it hurts. As simple as that.

 

The only exception I've really allowed is Danna Kreth, the only woman in all 3rd platoon, and the only other woman in K Company. I don’t know how, but somehow she wriggled her way under my radar in the weeks after that fight in Mos Espa. Maybe it just was the fact that she refused to let me wallow in my self pity; and that she was a woman. When there are only six women in the whole regiment, you tend to turn to each other. It’s a social thing, at least that’s what they told me in my sociology classes in college.

 

But back to the present. I don’t answer Nas, just turn around to face the curtain opposite to me. I’m really not in the mood for idle chit-chat right now. But one of Nas’ biggest strengths – or weaknesses, depending on your point of view – is his persistence. Of course, he's much more annoying than Danna. Once he has a target, he gets into that 'single-minded male predator mode' that makes men go to such amazing lengths to acquire the object of their ardour. In this case… _I_ 'm the target.

 

“Oh come on Mel, don’t give me the silent treatment. I know you must be feeling a little lonely in here.” And the award for dumbest statement of the _year_ goes to... We are in a field hospital with no privacy for the patients, and there are 15 other people lying around here. Try to feel lonely in such surroundings. Maybe pulling the blanket up a little will help… _Holy shit!_ Okay, note to self: Do _not_ move right shoulder unless absolutely necessary.

 

“Uh, Mel, everything okay?” Dammit, he must have heard how I sucked in my breath when I tried to move that shoulder. I’m desperately trying to shake my whiny-little-girl image from my first mission here; the least he could do is appreciate the effort and let it go without a comment.

 

“Mel, really, talk to me. Ever since that patrol in Mos Espa you’ve been so… _quiet_. You scare me when you’re quiet, you know that?” Aw, dammit. I hate it when he shows concern like that, because he’s almost irresistible. And it's because he’s right. Ever since that “Dead Baby Patrol” some weeks ago, I didn’t really feel like the same old Jenna anymore. I had only recently recovered from a bad blaster wound to the shoulder, and hadn't been on that kind of patrol before. And then, when we found that hut, the stench made me nearly vomit… and I was _relieved_ when the Corporal ordered me and Azen out. But the worst was when the sandpeople attacked the camp. I really don’t want to go into details, but let’s just say that since that night I've known I never should have become a soldier.

 

I mean, alright, so I’d had that fleeting feeling ever since arriving at the training camp on Chandrila for basic. But there, the thought of my mother had kept me going. My mum was a living legend on Chandrila; a starship captain who joined the Alliance almost as soon as Mon Mothma declared war on the Empire.

 

She fought some pretty tough battles, and she was a tactical genius. Well, at least that’s what they say back home. To me she was a distant warrior goddess who visited us something like every three or four months, bringing with her souvenirs from distant planets or new war stories, and most often both. We all admired her – even my dad, a business man who really wasn’t happy about his wife endangering herself constantly – and we all secretly dreamed of becoming a war hero like her.

 

So I took the test for the Chandrilan Navy, but failed gloriously. It nearly devastated me, but I allowed myself to be steered towards a career in journalism by my dad. And then… the message came. On a bright summer’s day a young man came up to our house, and we all knew instantly that something was wrong. He gave us a data card and his honest condolences and then he was gone, leaving us with the last message my mum ever recorded for us and an official letter from Alliance High Command, saying that her ship was ambushed and that she had died heroically, giving her crew the opportunity to escape. She went down with her ship, just like the captains in those stories about the ancient ocean mariners.

 

That was the day I decided to abandon journalism and become a soldier, no matter what. Someone needed to carry on my mother’s legacy _somehow_ , and I had this stupid idea that the someone needed to be me.

 

See, I am the eldest of three children, raised to believe strongly in freedom, equality… all the things the Alliance stands for. I was also raised to believe that I had a responsibility of some kind, and I thought it was the responsibility of not letting my mother’s legacy go to waste. And so, at age 22, I dropped out of college and I took the infantry test. I got accepted and was sent to basic training on my home world of Chandrila. For half a year we were trained, and then they sent us to Tatooine, our first deployment. And well, that’s how I landed in that sandy wasteland here, knowing I was never meant to be here.

 

“Mel, please, talk to me. I know something’s wrong, and I don’t want Sarge or the LT to be the one to find out first what it is. I’m not gonna leave until you tell me.”

 

I snort, just can't help it. And before I know it, the words “Don’t you have work to do, Private?” are out of my mouth.

 

I can almost see the grin plastered all over his face, when he says, “Not right now, _Private_. Managed to swap DBP with Tarkker. So, for at least four hours, I’m all yours.”

 

I snort again, only this time to suppress a laugh. “Only in your dreams, Nas.” I hear footsteps, then see him sit down on my cot, about hip’s height, from the corner of my eye.

“Ah, but wonderful dreams they are. But I hear your interests lie elsewhere anyway…” I knew it. I _knew_ he would come up with that stupid 'Magic' story. Just one of my famous “Act first, think later” stunts. A little frustrated I want to reach up and slap him on the arm with my right hand, but the shoulder protests again. This time I can’t hold back a small grunt.

His voice grows concerned again. “Oh, hey, you okay? Can I help you?”

 

Very slowly and _very_ cautiously I manage to turn myself back on my back with only a minimum of pain, then sigh and say: “No, it’s okay. Shoulder’s just a little… sore, that’s all.” He half turns to me, with a somewhat skeptical expression on his face. He doesn’t believe a word I say. Not that I care, but…

 

“So, now that you found your voice again… won’t you tell Uncle Nas what bugs are biting your beautiful little ass?” I glare at him. We’re in a sithspawned war and he keeps on throwing around compliments like he’s in some stupid Outer Rim cantina? That’s just not how it’s supposed to be, right?

 

“Not when Uncle Nas keeps talking nonsense,” I reply, trying to sound adequately huffed. Which is not easy when you’re lying flat on your back and the receiving end of your reprimand is leaning over you. But miraculously it’s helping, since he gets all serious again.

 

“Okay, no more nonsense. Now… talk to me?” Inwardly, I sigh. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time trying to evade this man, but he just keeps popping up on my radar again and again. And what’s even worse: I now suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to _talk_ to someone. And he's the only one around.

 

And so, before I think about it further, I say, “Xanas… have you ever felt like you don't belong here?” When I call him by his full given name, I’m usually trying to be serious. I hope he gets the hint.

 

He raises his eyebrows and snorts. “Don't belong here? Mel, we’ve been here for what… a month, two? And if the Force wills it, we’ll not be here for another. _Of course_ we don’t belong here.” Nope, didn’t get it. But what did I expect, anyway?

 

This time I managed to slap him on the thigh with my left hand. “Not 'here' as in Tatooine, stupid. 'Here' as in the Alliance is what I meant. I’m trying to be serious, and you don’t even listen. Another reaction like that, and I’ll not talk to you _ever_ _again_.”

 

Nas holds up his hands in defense, trying to make an indignant face. “Hey, how am I supposed to read your thoughts? Not a fucking Jedi here, sister.” I’m really about to throw him out when he gets all serious again. “You think… you don’t belong here? That’s what’s bothering you?”

 

I only nod, waiting for either some stupid jokes and some remark that he knew all along that I’d only fuck up here, or the eager denial and the assurance that I was just doing fine. But neither comes. Instead he only says, “Why?” I don’t really know why, but I’m touched. I’m genuinely and honestly touched. And feeling a little guilty because I always found him to be a nuisance. But that doesn’t mean I still don't, okay?

 

But, he asked me a question, and I guess I owe him an answer. “Well, just… look at me. Remember the battle for Mos Espa, when I was going in behind Magic and his gang? Well, I got shot and I dragged myself into an empty stall, and then suddenly he barges in with his injured leg and everything, and all I can say is, 'Please don’t let me die, Nalan'.” I mimic my own voice, maybe exaggerating a little in the whiny-ess department, but I need to make my point clear. Nas just nods. “I sounded so… pathetic, you know? And the worst part was, I _really was_ afraid I’d die, and I didn’t _want_ to die so much that I’d have done _anything_ at that moment.”

 

He rubs his neck. “Well, nothing really wrong there, I’d say.” Okay, so I didn’t make myself clear.

 

“No, look, I just… I’m a grown woman of 23 years, and I’m whining about a shot to the shoulder to a… what… 17-year old kid? And the same kid orders me and Azen away from some little house reeking of decay only days later because I’m about to puke right on his boots. Just because of the _stench_ , right?”

 

Before I can continue my rant, Nas throws in, “Mel, he’s been in the field for, like months now, and people say he’s seen action on Gnazt _and_ Yavin IV. It’s _okay_ to be less experienced than him. And just remember that story how he fell asleep in the middle of an assault. If that’s not stupid, I don’t know what is.” I found myself grinning against my will at that. Yeah, that’s one of those stories they’ll be telling even on Hoth in no time. Big war hero Corporal Korwin Nalan falling asleep in the middle of an Imperial assault and needing to be dragged out by his second-in-command.

 

But there’s still the thing that landed me in the field hospital _again_. “Okay, that _was_ stupid. But he never almost managed to kill himself with his own rifle, did he?”

 

He grins. “Mel, you did _not_ 'almost kill yourself'; not by a long shot. You just operated it from an odd angle and your shoulder caught the recoil. That's all. Could have happened to anybody.” Great. That’s _so_ not helping, mister. It just says I’m exaggerating again and making a fuss. I huff again.

 

“Well, that certainly doesn’t make things better. In fact, it makes them _worse_.”

 

He raises his eyebrows again. “How so?”

 

Is he really that dense or does he only want to torment me a little? “Well… don’t you see it? It just means I’m overreacting again and again. It means I can’t handle the pressure. It means: I. Don’t. Belong. Here. Get it?”

 

He smiles. “No. Because _that_ just means you need to get used to everything. And trust in yourself a little more. You’ll do fine, Jenna.” Oh. He's never called me _that_ before. Everyone here almost instantly started calling me either by my surname or some nickname like “Red” or “Blue Eyes” or something. Strange thing is: I never wanted anyone to call me by my given name, and I was okay with that. But now I’m also okay with _Xanas_ of all people calling me “Jenna”. Huh?

 

“But… Xan… I… haven’t killed anyone yet. And I don’t know… I don’t know… Force, what if I screw up because I can’t pull the trigger when the time comes?” I look at my hands. Strange, how it’s him of all people I’m telling these things to. But he just has that thing about him that makes you want to tell him things. Should have become a shrink, I think a little sourly.

 

A strong callused hand suddenly lies atop mine and grips it. “For your sake, I wish the time would never come for you, but it will. And I know that you’ll do the right thing when it does. You’ll do whatever needs to be done because you’re just the kind of person who always does what they have to. I’d be happy to know you were by my side when push comes to shove.” Swallowing the sudden lump that appears in my throat, I look up at him and see that he’s grown _really_ serious now. Holy frigging _shit_.

 

“I…”

 

“Oh, and I'll allow you to continue calling me ‘Xan’… and that’s really something, you know? Sounds better, too.” He grins brightly. Okay, it’s amazing how that man can ruin just about _any_ 'moment'. Stupid _shutta_.

 

“Well, _thank you_ , sir. I feel, like, really honored now.” I grimace at my sentence. Though he’s right. It _does_ sound nicer than “Nas”, which always reminds me of “nasty”, and that’s more what I’d associate with the Sarge, not necessarily with Xanas. ‘Annoying’ would be more fitting in his case.

 

Before he can say anything in response, a voice booms through the hospital tent, shouting, “Farrayn! Come out, you little pile of bantha poodoo, and I’ll show you what it means to cheat your way out of DBP!”

 

Now it’s my turn to raise my eyebrow. “What was it you said about 'swapping', Private?”

 

He just grins a little lop-sided, then hops off my cot, and makes his way stealthily out the other entrance of the tent, but not before whispering, “If I don’t come back, tell my mum I died as a hero,” to me.

 

Grumbling, I turn back to face the curtain again. That guy’ll be the death of me someday, I swear.

 

“Private?” Oh joy, Sarge is following Xan’s tracks and he just discovered where he went before disappearing. Damn traitor. Guy _knew_ Sarge would be coming here first of all, pissed like hell. Suppressing a sigh, I turn around.

 

“Yes, sir?” Whoa, I think I’ve never seen Sarge’s head _that_ red. And he gets red a lot. One… two…

 

“GET ON YOUR FEET WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU PRIVATE!” I think I just felt my eardrums pop… I swear. Okay, so I knew that was coming. Still doesn’t mean I like how he always picks on me.

 

Before he can say anything else, a Mon Calamari nurse approaches him, touching him lightly on the arm. “Please sir, would you be so kind as to…” Mistake, Miss, _big_ mistake.

 

Sarge goes off like plasma grenade on her, yelling at her that a damn fish head should _not_ be ordering _him_ around, that he could treat his troops as he saw fit… the usual rubbish. The only thing that really aggravates me is that I’m intimidated by it and the nurse isn’t. I mean, _she_ is the target, right? Then why is it me that gets smaller and smaller, and not her?

 

Hm. Maybe because Sarge is a stocky human guy about 6 feet and the nurse is about a head taller than him. And she’s Mon Calamarian; maybe she’s seen worse than a stocky little man screaming obscenities at her. When he’s finally out of breath, the nurse’s mouth twitches a little and she says with her voice a little dry, “Please would you be so kind as to keep your voice down? We have a lot of patients here that need absolute quiet to recover.”

 

“I don’t fucking care…” Sarge wants to start again, but suddenly there’s a large Shistavanen looming over him, baring his teeth briefly to Sarge. On his collar there’s the insignia of a Captain in the medical service – a doctor, then – visible.

 

“Is there a problem?” he grumbles at Sarge, and for one fleeting moment I get the totally priceless and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see Sergeant Nyre “I’m gonna have your balls for breakfast, even if you haven’t any” Dankin actually shrinking from another being. I’m almost tempted to say that this is worth the fuss.

 

But then it’s over, and Sarge has slipped into the usual jovial manner he usually exhibits when dealing with officers. “No, sir. Of course not, sir. I was just asking this Private here…” a nasty glance into my direction promising me a slow and painful death if he ever caught me alone, “where my AWOL – one of my other Privates who weaseled his way out of a DBP – went.”

 

The Shistavanen looks from me to Sarge and back to me, then says, “Well, Private? Is there anything you have to say about this matter?”

 

I swallow. There’s murder in Sarge’s eyes, most presumably because that wasn’t the first time Xan managed to get away from some undesirable duty. And if I know him right he managed to do it right under Sarge’s nose. _And_ he managed to drag _me_ into it, this time. That alone should give me any right to tip Sarge off. On the other hand… Xan did it for _me_. He was there to listen when Danna couldn’t be because she was crawling around in the desert again. There, when I needed a friend. Or just _someone_. Ah, hell. “No, sir. I’ve got absolutely no clue what the Sergeant is talking about.” Oh, dear, if looks could kill.

 

“Well, then everything is settled. Would you be so kind as to leave my tent now, Sergeant?” the Shistavanen Captain growls, and when Sarge stalks away without saying anything else, I have quite some difficulties of fighting the impulse to hug the Captain. But I manage to stay on the bed. The Shistavanen and the nurse just give me nod when they leave, and then I’m alone again; free to plot Xanas Farrayn III’s slow and painful death at my hands. He really should consider himself lucky if Sarge is the one who catches him first, because no matter was Sarge has on his mind, I’m sure _my_ stuff is worse. Making me lie for him... really the nerve that man’s got.

 

“What’s all the commotion about, huh?”

 

Gah! Can’t a girl have her peace even at the hospital? Only two nights until there was enough bacta to treat the broken shoulder and the light concussion, and then I would have been free prey for all of you. But _no_ , you just _have_ to grate on my nerves even here, right?

 

Okay, so maybe I’m being unfair, because this time it’s neither Sarge nor Xan disturbing me, but Danna. I turn around. She's obviously fresh out of the shower by the look of it, and smiling from one ear to the other. I sigh without sound, then say, “Had a successful hunt?”

“Yep. What about you? Heard you had a little weapon trouble?” I roll my eyes and barely suppress a groan. Is everyone fated to torture me today? First Xan, then Sarge, and now even Danna? That’s just not fair.

 

“Yes. Went to the shooting range, handled the stupid thing wrong, got a broken shoulder, end of story.”

 

“Not very talkative today, are we?” Danna smirks.

 

I just stick out my tongue at her and say, “You would be, too, if you were harassed first by Xanas Farrayn, pain in the ass extraordinaire, and then by Sergeant Nyre Dankin. And we all know _him_ , right?”

 

She grimaces again, this time contorting her face into an almost ugly expression. Then she grins, a little slyly now. “How about I get you some company that would be more… desirable?” I knew this would come, but I would have liked it if Danna had stayed away from the “Jenna and Korwin sittin’ in a tree”-ship, even if it was just for _my_ sake.

 

“Danna, could we just…” She holds up her hands, grinning like mad.

 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” She looks down, and then up again, grinning naughtily this time. “Although you know, I think he actually found it kinda cute…” Okay, enough is enough. Trying to ignore the excruciating pain in my right shoulder, I lift my upper body up.

 

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I look her directly into the face and say, “No, Danna. That’s enough. I’m really sick of everyone thinking they can poke fun at me or pick on me whenever they feel like having a good laugh at someone else’s expense. I’m an abysmal soldier, I’m 23 years old, and often enough behaving as though I'm 17, and I’m more of a danger to myself with a blaster in my hand than to anyone else. But I’m a damn sentient being who can only take so much. Why is it so damn hard for everybody to _frigging treat me like one_?” A few heads are turned to us now. Okay, so I should have kept my voice lower, but at this point I’m beyond caring.

 

For a while, it’s silent between us, and when I can’t take it any longer, I let myself fall back on the cot. It’s this moment of weakness, Danna chooses to get back. “Fine,” she says in a very low and somehow flat voice, “if you really want to lie around here and feel sorry for yourself, then do it. I won’t hold you back. I was just trying to be a friend, but it seems you don’t need one right now. So… see you later.” And with that she’s gone again.

 

Great.

 

Just frigging great.

 

After that first battle, and the wound I took, I thought there couldn’t be anything worse. Turns out, sometimes you don't need laser fire and blood to make your day the most miserable you've ever had so far. Sometimes all it takes is a little pain and a bad joke too much, and wham, you scare off the only real friend you had in the camp. And it’s really only my fault.

 

You see, it's just like I said. Private Jenna Melara, major screw-up.


	2. Chapter 2

** Two **

 When I was finally let out of the hospital tent, things had changed. Which is why I’m now sitting at the back of my platoon tent and just basically trying to be invisible. At first, I didn’t really notice what was going on, but then I accidentally overheard some people from Supply talking. And I absolutely didn’t like it. Basically, word about my reaction towards Danna had gotten round pretty fast, and like every good rumor it got blown up a little wider with every new time it was told.

 By the time I got out of the hospital tent, they had already labeled me as the ‘crazy fury with the fire hair’ or something like that. In the end all the avoiding glances, and the people scurrying out of my way – together with the all the stuff whispered behind my back – made me go on a nearly frantic search for a quiet place.

 And now I’m sitting here and staring at the practically endless wasteland before me, always listening for someone to accidentally stumbling over me with one ear. I just should have known, something like the thing which happened between Danna and me wouldn’t stay secret for long.

 I lean back on the tent and close my eyes. Dawn just began, and Tatooine’s two suns are starting their crawl over the dunes. It’s actually a very beautiful sight. Well, as long as you don’t know that behind the next dune, your death could already be sitting and waiting for you.

 I take another breath and open my eyes again, taking in more of the stunning spectacle that dawn always is on Tatooine. Back on Chandrila, I used to stay up whole nights, talking to my best friend or just reading and then watching the sun rise.

 I have to close my eyes again, because a wave of home-sickness just dropped down on me. Taking a steadying breath, I briefly wish I could just wait till breakfast and see if Danna had a little time just for talking. Usually, Danna’s great with listening, but ever since me shouting at her, I haven’t seen anything of her. Not even a cold glance or something. It’s just as if she made herself disappear from my radar. Which makes it impossible for me to apologize to her…

 “Tarkker. Farrayn. Melara. Attittalon. Winters. Tre’gar,” Sarge suddenly bellows out across half the camp at us and receives a “Yes, sir!” from the three humans and the Bothan, and a roar from the Wookiee. Trying to shake of the last drops of home-sickness, I jump up and make a run for the tent’s entrance, lining up beside the guys who are already standing at attention.

Well, patrol again, I bet. What wouldn’t I give for another night in the field hospital. Or kitchen duty. Or even one of Sarge’s famous “Mon Calamarian runs” – he calls them like that because “we’ll be running until you fucking rookies are in deep water!” Just not _another_ DBP. Every time I’ve got to walk through that damn ghost city, I’m on the edge the whole time. And when I get back, I’m always drenched in sweat, and not from the heat. ‘Sides I still get light cases of vertigo every time I’ve got to ride in a box.

 “Alright, rookies, gear up and be at the landing pat in ten. Time starts… _now_.” Gah! Did he have to yell that directly into my face? Now I’ve got to run around with those drops on it for the whole DBP, because I’ll never be able to wash my face before taking off.

 The others gear up in a kind of professional hurry, but I’m clumsy as ever. Frantically getting my gear and hoping to the Force and all the gods from the ancient Chandrilan pantheon that I don’t forget anything, I pack my things.

 I’m just about to storm out of the tent, when I feel a light tap on my shoulder. A little too fast I whirl around, throwing a “What?” at the one who dared to disturb me.

 “Thought you might want to take your canteen with you,” a rather quiet Xan says and holds my canteen in his hand.

 Ever since my outburst against Danna in the hospital tent made the round, people were trying to stay clear of me. Most of the teasing subsided but so did the general social interaction. Some of them even threw me wary or even hostile looks. After two days I actually would have been _happy_ about a little teasing. But up to Xanas now speaking to me, I had to put up with cautious to hostile silence.

 I take a deep breath, even managing a smile, when I take my canteen and say, “Yeah. Uh… thank you.”

 And, what a surprise, Xanas manages a smile himself as well. Seems at least one isn't afraid of me anymore.

 When I arrive at the landing pat, I’m a little flustered. What’s the LT doing here, all geared-up? As we run to the box that’s already ready to lift up, I throw a casual glance at Xan, mouthing a “What the fuck?”, but he just gives a short shrug and then lines up next to the other ones. The LT clears his throat. Oooh, speech time!

 “People! I know you were expecting to go on another patrol, but I have to disappoint you.” If you only knew, mister… “Instead you will be accompanying me on a trip to our second wasteland force, a four hour ride from here.” Wait, does that mean I have to sit four hours in that box behind me? Four hours with my feet dangling out of the damn thing and with various bouts of vertigo? What did I do to deserve that? Patrol doesn’t sound so bad all of a sudden.

 “You have the great honor of being my escort.” I risk a glance at my squad mates, and I‘m pretty sure that all of them could just suppress a groan. Lieutenant Dernel is one of those young officers who think they are Gods, and that enlistees should worship the ground they walk on. My mother would have hated him.

 Dernel gives the order to mount, and the squad climbs into the box. Before I can get in, he looks at me and says, “I just hope you live up to your famous name just for once, Melara,” looking down at me disdainfully. Why does everyone think that being taller than me gives them the right to make me feel even shorter? And why does everyone think I need to be reminded of who my mother was? Permission to shoot you, sir?

 Not dignifying his insult with a comment, I climb into the box, trying to wedge in between Xanas and Tarkker to get away as far as possible from the open sides. Both guys give me a look that clearly says “What the fuck are you doing?” and there’s no time to argue. Trying not to let anything show, I take place beside Xanas and can just withstand the temptation to close my eyes against the height, because another sign of weakness would be just the right thing for the guys to have a little fun. And Dernel’s stupid comment was enough aggravation for today.

Sand, sand, sand and even… more sand. That’s everything I see from my place at the side. Not that I’m not used to it by now, but it’s still a very depressing sight, most when you’re already not your usual cheerful self. And I’m _definitely_ not.

 Half an hour after the take-off the guys became bored. So bored they finally forgot that they were all scared of me and started teasing me again. Dernel preferred to go and harass the pilots in the cockpit, which left me and the guys. The first one to break the relative silence was Private Winters, a boy only a little taller than me, scrawny and still looking like a teenager. And with a nasty streak. “Say, Melara… I was really happy I’d go on a mission with you. Because you know… I was hoping you could teach me some new tricks with the rifle.”

 I tried to stare through him, pretending I hadn’t heard his stupid question, but then the Bothan joined him. “Yeah… or do you have any fancy nicknames for all of us? We could also think of one for _you_ … like…maybe…” It was the Wookiee’s turn then to roar. All the guys – apart from Xanas, which _did_ surprise me – laughed a little viciously, and Tarkker then said, “That’s a good one, At. She really behaves like one.” At this point I became suspicious, additionally to feeling just plainly sick of them making fun of me. And I wasn’t mistaken.

 “Now, I think we’ll call you our queen. A Queen for One Year. Because, you know… you behave like one. You really behave like you’ve got every guy wrapped around your finger, but it’s only because you have tits, and that’s something really rare here. And it’ll only last a year.” They guffawed. It was then I thought I was in hell. They hadn't only thought up a cheesy and stupid nickname, they had also thought up a _totally unimaginative_ nickname.

 Just as I was about to answer when suddenly Xanas spoke up. “Will you all just shut up? We’re supposed to be on the same side, so treat her like an equal.” That was just great. Really, exactly what I absolutely didn’t need in that moment. It only made me look weaker, even if it wasn’t what Xanas had intended with it.

 In a bout of quick-wittedness I just gave them a look of disdain, and then said to Xanas, “You know… they can keep on treating me like I wasn’t their equal. I mean, who wanted to be equal with _them_?” I swear, that for one small moment, I saw a vicious grin lighting up in his face, but instead of answering he chose to just nod and that was it. Since then they tried to coax me or him into another conversation or whatever they called that guffawing and bad jokes, and I had been sitting on the edge watching the endless sand dunes flying by.

 And still… more sand. That is, until the box suddenly rocks to the side, making Tarkker and Winters almost fall off. All of the men are swearing loudly, threatening the pilots with all forms of a violent and small death for that move, but before either them or Dernel can react, the box rocks again, then sputters.

 And then everything happens at once. Something in the back explodes, burning Winters, Tre’gar and Attittatlon. The ground is coming nearer at an alarmingly fast rate. And then I feel someone pushing me out of the box, and when I hit the ground, I fade into oblivion.


	3. Chapter 3

  
** Three **   


The first thing I realize is the pain. My whole body seems to be hurting. It’s not blinding, but dull and just… everywhere. The next thing is the heat. My face feels like it’s on fire, my lips feel like sandpaper and breathing really is an effort. But something tells me I have to get up. I try to move my arm to lift myself up. Which is a mistake. A _big_ mistake. My shoulder blades protest as do the arm muscles, my fingers… basically my whole upper body. And the heat is still burning down on me. I guess, a second try is mandatory, as much as the pain is speaking against it.

Incredibly slow I manage to move my arms and lift my upper body. When I put my weight on my wrists, I can’t hold back a cry of pain. A sharp bolt of pain from the right wrist jolts through my right arm. I’m not a trained medic, but I already had a broken wrist once. And this felt exactly like it’s feeling now. Great. 

Gritting my teeth against the nauseating reverberation of the pain from the broken wrist, I sit up and automatically check myself for further injuries. The whole right side of my jump suit is singed, but obviously no skin is really hurt. Closing my eyes, I wait for dizziness or nausea, but nothing comes. And I still know what happened before my vision faded to black. So, maybe no concussion either.

Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes again and look into the direction I presume the box crashed. And I still gasp, even if I knew the sight might be horrible. The wreck is amazingly intact, considering what must have happened after I got out. It’s lying on the right side, with its stern slightly higher then the nose. All around it, blackened pieces of metal are lying, and there are thin lines of smoke coming from various places alongside the box. But what is most unnerving is the unnatural calm. No wind is blowing, and of course no other living being is around, so there’s just… nothing. Which means most probably that I’m the only one who survived the crash.

I take another even deeper breath, forcing myself not to start hyperventilating. I try to tell myself that everything will be okay, that I will survive this. And I try to remember what my instructors told me for cases like this. Which is… practically nothing. That what I remember, not what they told me. I’m pretty sure, they _did_ say _something_ about…

My head jerks up. A sound… I just heard a sound… straining to see if it comes again, I nearly hold my breath… And then I hear it again. A faint groan, only audible because of the almost deafening, all-embracing silence. Ignoring the still lingering pain in my body, I scramble up, trying to find the source of the groan.

And I wish, I hadn't. In my sitting position, I only had a general overview. What I see now is a lot harder to take. Some feet left of me I see a charred figure that used to be my Bothan platoon mate Tre’gar, and I try to swallow away the bile rising in my throat. But weak stomach that I am, I end up losing what was left of the ration bars I had for breakfast on the ride. Great, as if dehydration wasn’t one of your biggest enemies when being in the desert.

After several dry heaves, I try to steady myself again and avoid throwing glances to my left. Then, I hear the sound again, this time a little louder, and maybe even a little more articulate. And yes, a few feet in front of me, I see another figure. Hoping against hope I won’t have to endure something like Tre’gar’s mortal remains again, I make my way over to the source of the moaning.

It’s Xan. The right leg of his jump suit is bloodstained and the whole side singed away, with burns covering the skin underneath it and other parts of his body, but as I check his pulse, I feel it going. Too weak to be satisfying enough, but still taking a weight comparable to… say… the Mount Isar on my home planet off my chest. He groans again, this time moving his head a little to the side.

Carefully, I shake his shoulder a little and touch his cheek. After several more tries, he finally cracks his eyes open, and when they have focused enough, something looking like a smile slowly spreads over his face. His lips move, and he obviously wants to say something, but only coughing comes out. Water. Yeah, water would be good… I search for my canteen, all the while swearing under my breath every time the presumably broken wrist reminds me of its existence.

Finally, I take the canteen from my belt and open it with my teeth. Not saying anything, I slip my right arm under Xan’s head and nudge the bottle at his lips, all the while trying to ignore the waves of pain that are shooting through my arm. After some difficulties, he manages to drink a few swallows and then indicates through tilting his head a little that it’s enough for now. I take back the canteen and close it again with my teeth, while taking my arm back from under his head.

For a moment, it’s silent again, then he says in a slightly hoarse and strained voice, “Forgot your sun block again, Private?”

Startled as I am, I can only answer with a slightly ungracious, “Huh?” and another smile appears.

“Your face. It’s even redder than after our first day here.” A little panicked, I touch my face. It’s burning all over, so I’m sure I’m as red as a Mon Calamarian lobster again. But other than that, it seems okay. I try a grin.

“If I’d really forgotten my sun block, there’d be blisters all over it by now. Believe me, I know all about a redhead’s curse.” Holy shit, what are we doing here? Our box crashed in the middle of nowhere, most likely leaving only us as survivors and with no protection from possible dangers than our rifles, and we’re talking about the color of my face?

My comment, though, obviously made Xanas laugh. Well, if that hoarse bellow he just made is supposed to be a laugh. When he’s calmed down again, I move to his right side to have a better look at his injuries. I’m a little afraid, because back home I always was a little squeamish about anything worse than a paper cut. But something tells me that this is not the time to get all girly.

“Xan?” He turns his head towards me.

“What?” Stealing myself with another deep breath, I pick on a piece of his sleeve.

“This could hurt a little now.” He turns back to look into the sky.

“Then get it over with fast.” I can see the pain in his eyes, and his face is uncharacteristically pale, even under all the tan I’m usually so jealous of. And here I thought a few bruises, strained muscles and a broken wrist were bad. Swallowing against the sinking feeling in my stomach, I use my left hand to peel the jump suit away from his left arm. 

The sight almost makes me throw up again. The skin is severely singed, with dark edges and blisters all over it. That’s gotta hurt like hell, but Xanas isn’t making any other sound than an occasional hiss. Yet. When I come to the bloody patch on his leg and accidentally come against it when trying to peel away the jump suit, he cries out in pain, throwing a very loud “GODSDAMMIT!” into the sky.

Before I can apologize for hurting him, though, he gets a grip on himself and looks at me apologetically, saying “Sorry for that,” and giving me a lop-sided grin. Huh?

“Uh… you know, I should be the one apologizing,” I say, and he grins again.

“No, because I was told never to…” Suddenly he stops, as if he realizes he’s about to say something he better shouldn’t and finishes with, “Never mind. It was just the pain talking.” What the hell’s _this_ about?

“If you say so. But… uh… we still have to do something about the leg and the burns.” And how I wish I knew what _that_ was. Frantically I try to remember what I learned in my first aid classes. What did they say about burns? Oh yeah, make sure they don’t inflame. Cool it. No, scratch that, it’s too late for that. What else? Right, cover it with something sterile. Where the hell do I get sterile bandages from?

“You still do have your med pac, right?” I love it when people take advantage of the fact that I’m very easy to read and use it to startle me. But he’s right.

“Oh, yeah. Yes, I do.” I dig around my leg pockets and find the emergency pack. That will absolutely not do.

“Get mine, too. It’s in the pocket of the healthy leg.” His voice is controlled, and he’s speaking almost like a teacher would speak to a child. Great, now I have to hate him even when he’s maybe fatally wounded. Saying nothing as not to say something I might regret later, I reach over and get the med pac.

I check both pacs if everything’s still in the right shape, and am surprised positively. At least once I’m lucky. Both pacs are still complete, and the bandages, emergency bacta infusions and antibiotics shots are still whole and unscathed. I guess, first things first then.

“Xan? I’m trying to give you some antibiotics now. I just have no clue how to handle that stupid syringe.” He grins a little weakly, and then guides me through the whole process step by step. His voice is growing weaker and weaker, and he’s starting to lose focus, and that’s really worrying me. Because what I always remembered best about first aid training is what they told us about shock. Okay, what to do? Oh yeah, keep the patient from losing consciousness.

“Keep talking, Xan. I’m almost done here, but I could use a little company. Come on, stay with me.” I finish the shot and throw away the whole thing. Who’s gonna care anyway?

“You… want me… to stay with you, huh?” Goodness gracious, he’s going into shock, and he’s _still_ making advances? Men.

“Yes, that’s true. Come on, tell me something about you. Why’d you apologize for crying out in pain some minutes ago?” While I try to keep him awake, I also try to figure out a way of moving him out of the sun without causing him too much pain.

“Mother… told me… always told me… not to swear in front of a lady… good grief, what are you _doing_?” So much for not swearing in front of a lady. But at least the pain seems to wake him up a little again. So does _my_ pain to me. I decided to slip my arms under his and drag him into the relative shade the smoldering box wreak is casting on the ground. Not a good idea, at least that’s what the wrist is telling me. But I guess, I’m nearing the point where you just don’t care anymore.

“Getting you and me out of the sun. Be grateful for it.” Almost there. Just a few more steps. Come on, Melara, you can do that. Your mother would have single-handedly gotten the man out of the sun. With the _injured_ hand, of course.

“I… am, actually. Even… if it’s… more for your sake than mine.” Even though I fully concentrate on not letting him fall to the ground ungraciously, I can very well imagine the slurred grin I heard in the comment.

“Cut it out, beach boy. Now, why did your mother tell you not to swear in front of ladies, huh?” I lean him with his back on the box’s wreak, very cautiously, and then allow myself to just sit down for a moment. Closing my eyes, I cradle my right hand and take a few steadying breaths. So maybe the point of not caring anymore might be away a few miles, still.

“Because… it was proper for… never mind. And sorry for the… other swearing.” Impressive. He's in pain, most probably still on the verge of shock, and he can still be all secretive about whatever. _And_ trying to be a gentleman as well.

“You’re forgiven, my dear,” I say in the tone my grandma used on us when she wanted to sound all old-school bourgeois and stuck-up. Which she basically _was_.

“Mel?” I open my eyes again and look at him.

“What?”

“That hand of yours… what’s… the matter with it?” Dammit. He noticed. I really should have made it less visible. He's got enough on his plate already to be worrying about me. As do I.

“It’s… nothing. Just a little sore. It’ll be okay in a few minutes.”

He shakes his head energetically. Well, as energetically as you can be when in his position. “Nonsense. Every time… you use the hand… which you try to… avoid… by the way… you… get all tensed up. What… is it?”

For a moment I consider to play down the whole thing again, but he’ll see through it, I’m pretty sure. I’m not bad at lying, but the hand thing maybe is a little too much to hide even for me. “It’s the wrist. I guess… I guess it’s broken. Hurts like hell.”

“Could be… sprained, then. Hurts usually more… more than being broken,” he says and coughs. Now look at that, there’s not only a gentleman hiding under the jump suit, but a medic as well?

“Whatever. Still hurts like hell.”

“Needs to… be put in a splint.” As if I wouldn’t know that myself.

“I know. I’ll get it done after I’m through with you. Deal?” For a moment, he looks like he’s going to contradict me, but something makes him change his mind. He only nods. “Okay. I’m going to have a look at your leg, now. It’s going to hurt, I’m sure. Just… try keeping on talking to me, okay? Tell me… why you decided to join the Alliance infantry. Yeah, that’s a good one. Tell me.” I crouch down beside his leg again, taking out my knife to cut the jump suit open.

“There’s not much to tell.” My ass there’s not much to tell. You’re just trying to be secretive again, mister.

“Then do it anyway. I need something to distract from what I might find. You don’t want me to faint, right?” He grins.

“You… won’t. Because you’re… stronger than that.” Good. Grief. He's still trying to make passes on me. MEN!

“Stop talking nonsense. Tell me why you joined the Alliance. And try to look into another direction, okay?” Good thing I remembered that as well. As long as people don’t see how bad it actually is, they are less likely to faint or go into shock. Gripping the knife a little harder with my left, I start cutting open the side of Xan’s jump suit.

“As you… wish, Madam. Though that’s really hard when it’s you doing the cutting.” Force, that man is lucky that I still mind hurting other people directly with my own hands. Because if I didn’t, I’d already have stabbed him for that remark.

“I said “Stop talking nonsense.” That _was_ nonsense. Now tell me. Why. Did. You. Join. The Alliance? And why infantry?” Still cutting. And gritting my teeth every time he jerks.

“Because of… my family. When the… Empire was declared… My planet… declared their loyalty pretty fast. Good… would you mind… working a little faster?”

“I majored in journalism, not medical science, okay? So, your planet declared their loyalty. What then? Your parents were opposing and murdered?”

Something that could a humorless laugh escapes his throat. “No. They… cheered, like… everyone else. They were… good Imperial… citizens. And good son… that I was… I had to oppose them. In… everything they said… or did.” Nearly done. Need to peel away the fabric from the wound now. Gods, don’t let me alone here, will you?

“So you basically joined the Alliance because you just couldn’t get out of puberty?” This time a real laugh drifts over.

“Something like… that. But I also saw some things… and heard some things… they didn’t.” He doesn’t get further then because I finally had the guts to tear the fabric off, and obviously the pain made him speechless.

Okay, now don’t faint. It looks worse than it actually is. Really.

Which is hard to believe, actually. The leg under the fabric I peeled away, is one bloody mass. “What the fuck happened, Xan?” Like he actually knew. D’uh.

“Dunno. Shrapnel, I guess. Could get out before… before the box crashed, though.” I close my eyes against the assaulting image of Xan’s bloody leg, and try to get my breathing under control

“Well… lucky bastard. Now… I need to clean that up. I just don’t have any idea how to do it.”

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I turn to him. There’s an odd smile on his face. “Then don’t. Open… one of the bacta… infusions, pour the stuff on a bandage… and slab it on the wound.” Where the hell did he learn that? And why isn't he with the med service when he obviously knows so much about the whole stuff? “Come on, don’t… look at me like that. You can do that.”

Fine. I have no idea where he takes that knowledge from, but maybe he’s right. I do as he told me, all the time breathing shallow. “You know… you need to breath to… stay alive, Mel.” I don’t answer anything, because I fear that if I lose concentration I’ll faint. I’ve never seen such an ugly injury with so much blood, and at the moment it’s only sheer force of will that keeps me from succumbing to my nausea and dizziness.

Okay, I’m done with the bacta thing, now it’s about wrapping the whole thing up. And I guess, if I thought, dressing the leg was bad, then I’ll certainly meet my match at wrapping it. The pain this must be causing to Xan makes me hesitant to go on and move the leg. He's already gritting his teeth. I have the bad feeling that he’ll be severely hurting them if I go on with what I’m doing right now. “Xan…”

“I… know. Just make it quick. I even promise… not to swear too much.” Against my will, I have to smile.

“You have my solemn promise that you can swear as much as you like. And I won’t tell your mum, you’ve got my word for that.” A snort is everything I get as an answer, but before I start to work on his leg, I have an idea. Pulling out my folded bandana, I shove it into his hand and tell him to put it between his teeth. Without asking, he complies, and I set to work.

It’s been at least ten minutes or longer now since I finished dressing Xan’s leg, and up to now neither of us has said a word. I guess that’s because at one point we nearly passed out at the same time. “Mel?” suddenly comes his hesitant voice, and without opening my eyes, I only say, “What?” Oh well, I guess that was a little too gruff for a guy who just had a medically totally inept screw-up dress his basically shattered leg.

“You didn’t fulfill your end of the… deal yet, you know.” What the…

“You just won’t let it rest, huh?” He grins and shakes his head.

“No. The wrist… handicaps you. You should take care of it.” I look at him again, surprised to see he isn't as pale as before anymore and his breathing isn't as labored. And even more surprised at the relieve that’s washing over me. Well, just have to ignore that, then. And go on looking for something, I could use for a splint or a cast.

“Okay, fine. You can handle just sitting here and doing… nothing but staying awake, right?” He makes a face that clearly indicates that he’s going to do something terribly to me if I don’t stop pampering him. What that should be, though, in his current state I have no clue.

Trying to ignore his indignant stares, I make my way into the cockpit. Or what’s left of it. Just before I’m about to enter, I hear Xanas calling for me. Oh well, so much for “Stop pampering me,” huh? Huffing, I still turn back and ask him what he wants. The answer, though, is slightly different from what I expected, “Don’t go there.”

I take some steps back to him. “What?”

He takes a deep breath, craning his neck to try and look at me. “I said “Don’t go there.” Trust me, you won’t like what you find there.” Trying to boss me around again. Trying to protect me. But I’ve had it now.

“Okay. Listen now, because I’ll only say this once. Stop it. Stop being a gentleman, and stop trying to protect me. Before I found you, I saw what’s left of Tre’gar. And ‘lo and behold, I survived it. I managed to dress your leg, although I used to faint at the side of more blood than a paper cut before joining the Alliance. I dragged you here even when the pain from my wrist started to make me dizzy. I. Can. Frigging. Take. Care. Of. Myself. Got it?”

For moment he says nothing, and I’m gripped by an almost out of scale hysterical fear that he’ll react just like Danna. And what’s even worse: He’d have any right to do it. But he just says,“Agreed. But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” and that’s it.

Without commenting on it, I resume my way to the cockpit. I know that every box needs to carry a medium sized first aid kit, and that’s what I’m looking for. Kicking debris and larger metal parts out of my way, I enter the cockpit. And want to flee from it immediately. The LT – or what’s left of him – lies across the floor, between the two pilots. A shrapnel the size of a vibrodagger lies embedded in his back, and there’s a puddle of dried blood surrounding him.

I know I shouldn’t, but I need to have a look at the whole cockpit if I want to find the first aid kit. But of course, when I look left from me, my first sight is the pilot. With his face completely devastated because obviously his console exploded right into it. Oh Force. With my knees about to buckle every moment and my hands shaking I take a grip on the door frame and try to steady myself. Okay, Melara, don’t say a word now. It’s a matter of pride. Say anything now, and you’ll reveal yourself as the ultimate sissy.

Alright, best way to avoid throwing up: Taking deep breaths until the nausea subsides. Which is a great idea in surroundings where heat speeds up the decay process. Okay, take the breaths through the mouth, you moron. There, it’s already better.

Breathing through my mouth and fervently trying not to look at the pilot’s, the LT’s or the co-pilot’s body, I search the cockpit as methodically as I can. And yes, behind the pilot’s seat, I can make out a white case with a blue ring on it. Let’s just hope the content isn't as old as the box itself. Gritting my teeth, I pry the case loose and drag it towards me. After standing up again, I shove it out the cockpit with my foot. When I leave the cockpit, I can’t help drawing some deep breaths again, happy to be out of it again.

So… now on with searching for something I can use as a splint again. But before I can shove the case over to where Xan is sitting – who just turned around to me and opens his mouth to say something – I hear another sound. Xan wants to say something, but I give him a wave to stay quiet. There, again. Sounds a lot like someone cussing. Xan smirks. “Seems we’re not alone anymore, after all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

 I hear the faint cussing again. Seems a little inarticulate, but definitely angry. I guess I need to take the risk and see where this is all coming from. Drawing the small officer’s blaster my mother left me behind, I walk over to the other side of the box and climb out. For a moment, all I see are charred remains of At and Winters and a lot of debris lying around, but when I suddenly hear a rustling sound to my side, I whirl around, the blaster pointing to whatever is in front of me.  

“Whoa, girlie, are we nervous today or what?” Tarkker. I should have known. And, by the look of it, he is relatively unscathed. Bastard. 

“What are you doing here?” Okay. Dumbest question of the year. 

“Enjoying the sunlight and the breeze with a drink in my hand. Holy shit, what do you think I’m doing here, huh?” I guess I deserved that. Besides from asking stupid questions, my blaster is still pointing at his head. I’d be pissed as well, if I was in his position. 

I put the blaster down, and my wrist is thanking me. Adrenaline can be so irritating sometimes. “Did you get injured in the crash?”

He shrugs. “Not much, and it’s none of your business anyway.” Of course it is, mister.

“Yes, it is. Now, get to the other side of the box and tell Xanas I’m looking for a splint. And see that he stays awake. He lost some blood, and I don’t want him to go into shock.” Whoa, where did _that_ come from? I actually sound like a soldier all of a sudden.

“Wait a minute, queenie… who put you in charge, huh?” Oh, so Tarkker obviously is not as thrilled at my new character trait as I am.

“We can discuss authority issues later. What I now need is a splint and someone to keep Xanas alive. That shouldn’t be too much, even for you.” Whoa. I guess surviving a crash like that and taking care of wounds like Xanas’ does something to a person. I’m not sure if I like this, though.

“Okay, listen up, you stupid bitch…”

“Is there… a problem… Tarkker?” Both of us snap around to look at a heavily panting Xanas leaning against the cockpit wall. On his forehead, sweat is glistening, and his face looks ashen. Dammit.

Without giving any more attention to Tarkker, I rush over to Xan. Draping his arm over my shoulder, I mutter, “That was a very stupid thing to do, Private. How do you expect me to haul your sorry ass back to the camp in one piece if you keep on ruining how I patched up everything?”

He says nothing, just grins a little slurred. Then, “Sorry… Mel. Just… can’t see a woman getting insulted.”

I huff. “I swear it, one day, Xanas Farrayn III., your chivalrous attitude will get you killed. Or at least severely hurt.” I lower him down to the ground, feeling the wrist protest all the while. I can feel him tensing up, and I can’t help tensing up as well. I really don’t want to hurt him anymore, regardless of what I liked to think at times before the whole ordeal.

“Yeah, if this here doesn’t kill me first.” I pause. I know he meant it as a joke, but I feel dread building up in my stomach. What if he really doesn’t survive this? Or anyone else of us? Or all of us? Gods, Melara, get a grip on yourself, for Heaven’s sake. Your mother would be ashamed of you.

Taking a deep breath, I frown at him and say, “Stop talking nonsense, mister, or I’ll have a closer look at your leg again. Now stay here while I deal with Tarkker, right.”

He looks up at me, smirking, “Yes, Ma’am.”

Rolling my eyes, I turn around and return to Tarkker who’s still standing on the other side of the box an staring at me with a certain amount of malice in his eyes. Good grief, we’re all on the same side, remember? “So… you feel like being up to a little baby sitter duty while I take care of my little problem here? Or do you need any medical assistance?”

I swear it, the sneer was totally unintended. Just couldn’t help it. He gives me another dirty look. “Not of the kind of ‘medical assistance’ you Army women like to offer. But thank you for the offer anyway.” Bastard. Slimy, obnoxious, abhorrent bastard. There’s only one way to counter this: Totally ignore it.

“Fine. Go help Private Farrayn, and start getting settled. See if you can get a fire running, but make sure no one can see it.. I’ll see if there’s anything still useful lying around here in the meantime.” He snorts and lets his gaze wander over my body. Like he’s undressing me with his eyes or something. Good _grief_.

“I don’t see no higher-up who gave you a promotion of some sort around here. So you’re still the little screw-up with tits you were before we crashed.” I’m almost ashamed to admit it but I’m actually tempted to reach for my blaster and point it at his head again. _Not_ set at stun. And _certainly_ not in accident. Gritting my teeth, I will myself to take my hand back from the holster.

“Look, I’m not ordering you around.” Lying again to a comrade. And so blatantly. Shame on you, Melara. “All I’m saying is that Private Farrayn needs someone to look after him while I take care of my injuries. And seeing as you’re the only one around who’s able to walk and actually move without much difficulties apart from me, it’s only logical that you take care of him.” I’m losing patience here really fast, and at the moment I want nothing more than getting away from that guy and into a nice quiet corner where no-one will ever find me. But seeing this isn't going to happen anytime fast I desperately cling to every bit of patience I have left.

“Go do your dressing or whatever you need to do. But I ain’t letting myself being bossed around by you anymore, queenie. You got that?” Stupid asshole. See if I care.

“Do whatever you want. But be prepared for taking over the first watch. We need to look out for Tusken and other surprises.” With that I turn around to go… _somewhere_ , far away from that bastard who’s got the nerves to undress me with his eyes and treat me like dirt in the same breath. And I also don’t want anyone around when I finally set to dress my wrist, because I’m sure I’ll look very absurd and very clumsy.

“You know you can’t stay awake forever,” he says and I keep looking at the endless desert, saying nothing. In some distance, we can see Tarkker’s silhouette against the starry sky. “He's still one of us, Mel.” I wonder if he’d still say that if he had seen how Tarkker looked at me an hour ago. Suppressing a shiver, I hunch over a little more. Just our luck that there’s nothing lying around with which you could built a fire.

“That doesn’t make him any less dangerous, Xan.”

He coughs, then sighs. “Dangerous? Mel, he’s one of the good guys, remember? _We_ are the good guys. Sure, he’s a bastard, but he’s a bastard on _our_ side. Why is it you don’t trust him?”

Because he’s a lecherous idiot who’s just waiting for his chance to get his dirty fingers on me and show me what women in the Army really deserve in his opinion. “Because I just have the feeling that he’s not necessarily here for the same reasons we are.”

He closes his eyes and leans back on the box. Shouldn’t he go to sleep or something? “And what _are_ those reasons? Mel, we already established that my being here is the result of a belated puberty. What are your reasons? Your mother?”

From one second to another, I’m wide awake. I jerk up-right, looking at him all alert now. “What do you know about my mother, Farrayn?”

He opens his eyes again and looks directly at me. I can’t see much, only the star light reflecting in his eyes then and again, and the usual green eyes look dark like the night surrounding us. “Not much more than the camp grapevine is saying. She was a fleet Captain, some kind of hero. Died in an ambush, went down with her ship. From that I figured…”

“Oh, you ‘figured’. From some half-assed rumors. And because of that you know about all my reasons for joining. I bow to your genius, Private.” _Why_ in all Heavens can’t I just stay calm when it’s about my mother? Or when someone hits dead on target, and I just don’t want to admit it. Besides, that was really mean, even considering it’s Xanas – bane of my existence – sitting there. He's wounded, and he lost a lot of blood, and I’ve got no right to go all plasma grenade on him like that. But it’s out, and taking it back wouldn’t make it undone anyway.

“Jen… I didn’t say that to insult you or something. I wanted to _ask_ if what I figured was _true_. I know you are doing your best to cope with the situation, and as far as I can tell, you’re doing okay. I just want you to stop wrecking your head about things 24/7 and start to relax a little. You won’t do much good if you stay awake all the time, and all the time thinking about what you need to do and what might happen. So… humor the Private who was stupid enough to get himself all burned up and then go and take your sleeping turn. Please?”

He's actually asking me for something. Knowing him, it cost him. Xanas Farrayn III. who always gets everything he wants with just a smile and few nice words – more so if his opposite is female – sinking down to actually asking for something… And me desperately wanting to give in his urgings… Just shows how screwed-up both of us are at this point of the whole mission.

I sigh. “Fine. Yes, my mother was a Captain for the Alliance. Yes, her ship got ambushed. Yes, she went down with it, making sure most of her crew were getting away safely. No, I didn’t join because I thought I needed to prove something.” Now lying to a wounded comrade. Melara, how far down are you going to sink here?

“Then why _did_ you?” Why do I still feel like he doesn’t believe me? Oh, right, because even I don’t believe myself.

“It’s complicated… On Chandrila, democracy is everything. I dare say it’s not a coincidence that our leader is a Chandrilan of all peoples. We are raised to firmly believe in it, and defend it at gunpoint if necessary. So when the Empire started invading my planet step by step, I… I wanted to _do_ something. I joined there, and I trained there, and then I was sent to Tatooine. And now I’m trying to prevent the Empire from doing what they did to my world or Ghorman or Alderaan. As a simple Private. Way to go, Melara.” I’m a bit surprised at myself, because the last part sounded like I meant that more for myself than for Xanas.

He seems to have noticed it himself, because he strains to lift his hand up and puts it on my shoulder, lightly squeezing it. For a while, neither of us says anything. Then, “Mel?”

I turn to him. “Mhm?”

“She’d be proud of you.” I close my eyes and lean my forehead against my rifle. I know he didn’t mean to insult me or anything, but I just heard that phrase a little too often to actually believe people weren’t mocking me or using it as a careless cliché.

“Yeah, whatever.” I hear him take a deep breath again to reply something, but I cut him short by saying, “You’re already past your bedtime, Private. Don’t make me beat you to sleep. Or drug you.”

“Same goes for you, _Private_ ,” he says, but has his eyes closed. When I check a little while later, he’s breathing as evenly as a heavy wounded man can breathe while asleep. Hoping to the Gods that he will wake in the morning, I settle in for one of the longest nights of my life.


	5. Chapter 5

  
** Five **   


 Squinting against the two rising suns, I struggle against the overwhelming urge to just close my eyes and give in to the need to sleep. Some hours ago I took my turn to watch, and since then I’ve been lying in a depression not far away from the downed box, my rifle pointing towards the endless empty desert. I hope that by now Tarkker assumed his place on the other side, like I told him.

And I hope to the Gods that Xanas is alright. And that someone will notice that we are overdue to return from our little desert op. When I’d finished tending to my wrist yesterday, I had searched the cockpit and the debris for anything useful. It was then that my hopes suffered a near fatal blow when I discovered that the box's entire communications array had become one with the pilot and copilot. Unlike the Larry's, regular infantrymen don't get those nifty long-range comlinks; just one radio, carried by the RO, or Radio Operator, who happened to be Winters. It means we are truly stranded.

I close my eyes against the rapidly rising suns. Beads of sweat created by already soaring temperatures have replaced the shivers of the night. By now, sand has seeped through my jumpsuit and into every nook and cranny, settled in my unruly hair and is grinding between my teeth. I doubt that I’ll ever be clean again.

Sweat is running out of my pores in streams, mixing with the sand on my body, creating a gritty, abrasive mess that makes it difficult to move without taking off skin. Of course, sitting still causes it to itch like crazy. Plus there's the wrist that even the splint couldn’t fully stabilize. It feels as though I have no strength left in my hands, and my grip on my rifle is practically non-existent.

I squeeze my eyes shut against the stinging drops of sweat that are beginning to run into my eyes, trying to avoid the sting. With a start, I jerk up, my rifle slipping from my sweaty hands. Grumbling, I reach into my right thigh pocket and pull out my gloves, hoping that they'll help me retain my grip on my weapon. We’ve been told so often to put on those things in the desert but I always manage to forget that. Stupid of me, really.

When I open my eyes again – still squinting against the sun and the sweat in my eyes – I register movement between two of the dunes before me. Blinking a few times to clear the sweat and sand from my eyes, I try to see if it was really something moving, or merely the morning heat creating mirages on the sands. But wait! There it is again. Something in the distance, ghosting smoothly over the sands, barely visible against the uniformly brown background. There are no animals that move like that on this planet; but Tusken do. Slowly I reach for my short-range comlink and send a series of clicks to Xanas and Tarkker. Trying to move as slowly as possible, I shift a little to readjust my position in the sand and train my rifle in the direction where I saw the movement.

I stare at the dunes, gripping my rifle hard, trying to catch another glimpse of the mysterious figure. Gods, let it be false alarm. An illusion induced by heat and nervousness. Nothing but… sand from a dune a little nearer is suddenly rippling down. Followed by a strange sound. Like a grunt. Oh Gods. Oh please no. Taking a deep breath I readjust my position, assured that my rifle’s power cell is loaded fully and the rifle is live and set to kill.

Hearing return clicks over my comm startles me enough that I almost jump, but I manage to keep still. When the clicks have ended, my heart makes a lurch forward. Obviously Tarkker’s seen someone approaching as well, but he indicated that it's friendly. They've found us! Oh Gods, let them be fast enough that I don’t have to pull the trigger and none of us gets hurt any worse.   
  
But it’s too late for that. Suddenly I can hear the punchy, whining reports of blasters firing behind me. I know one of them. It’s the one that belonged to my mother; the one that I gave to Xanas, so that he had something besides his rifle to defend himself. Startled I get up and run back to the downed box, to be welcomed by a hail of slugthrower fire from a Tusken warband. I dive into the sand, going completely prone under the sudden storm of hot lead. Feeling hot shame wash over me, I realize I let myself be fooled. The movement up on the dune obviously had been a simple decoy maneuver meant to catch my attention and hold it. They had already known I’d been lying there in my hole.

As I lie here on the sand, under fire, all the instincts that were drummed into my subconscious mind in basic suddenly kick in. I can feel the bullets kicking up sand all around me, and I realize that if I don't start fighting back, I'm going to die here. Bile begins to creep up my throat, and I start to feel lightheaded, as I raise my head a little and point my rifle. With shaking hands, I train the sights on the lead sandperson, who is moving towards Xanas. I take a deep breath, and let it half-way out, just like the DI told us back at basic. I caress the trigger instead of squeezing it, just like the DI said, caress it like it was my lover. The weapon bucks as it discharges it's deadly payload, and I caress my lover again. The two bolts strike home, the first in the sandperson's flank, the other in it's head.

Instead of remorse, I feel only a sense of hyper-awareness. Colors are clearer, sharper, and time seems to slow down almost. I can hear the bullets whizzing past me, and I fire several more shots off at the approaching sandpeople. I drop two more, and the rest drop to the minimal cover of the sand to continue shooting at me. I use the momentary reprieve to leap to my feet and dash the remaining eight or so meters to the box. There must close to twenty of the Tusken's now, and they've resumed their mad, honking charge towards the box. Once again, the air is rent with sound of cracking slugthrowers, the high-pitched buzzing of slugs whizzing by our ears and pinging off the box, thudding into the sand.

By now I’ve reached Xanas and the sand people are only a few meters away. I dive into the depression he's sitting it, and peek over the edge. For a moment, I feel paralyzed. The last time I was in a serious fight with the enemy up close and personal had been when Tusken's had attacked the camp in the middle of the night, and I hadn't actually done any fighting. Magic made sure that no one in Company K did. Wide-eyed, I stare at them now, as images of that frightening night come rushing back to me at an almost incomprehensible speed.

A blaster bolt sizzles past my ear, and I straighten up again. At least one of them has an Imp or Rebel weapon. They're not too spread out, and I do what comes naturally. My hand reaches to my combat harness and pulls a grenade, priming it as it cocks back to throw. The small explosive hurtles into their midst, and I'm elated to see that my aim was perfect. The grenade explodes, sending white-hot shrapnel tearing through the small warband. Sandpeople are thrown left and right, their bodies torn and battered. But it's not enough, as there are still eleven of them charging at us. Where the hell is Tarkker? And where is that box he told me he’d seen?

“Mel!” Xanas suddenly shouts, but I don’t turn around. I switch my firing mode to fully automatic and squeeze the trigger while sweeping my rifle back and forth. It's inaccurate, and I only kill two, but the rest suddenly turn and break for the cover of a large boulder some fifteen meters away from the box, firing as they go. Pain blossoms in my left arm, as a slug rips open the skin, and tears through a small piece of the muscle, and I can't hold back a small cry of pain. Gritting my teeth, I expend the remaining shots in my blaster pack towards the boulder the Tusken's are taking cover behind.

Without bothering to reload, I sling my rifle on my back and crawl to Xanas, who is still firing sloppily aimed shots at the boulder. I get behind him and grab him under the arms. He stops firing, and glances back at me, but says nothing. I pull him into the open door of the wrecked box, hurriedly pulling him behind the cover of the metal wall.

“Mel!” Xanas shouts again, and now I take the time to turn to him.

“What?” I shout back, and he leans out from behind his place of cover and points into the sky. I barely have time to register that there is indeed an object in the air that’s rapidly getting bigger, before the sandpeople open up on us again. I can only hope it's one of ours.

“When the box arrives, you run out and don’t look back.” Another bullet sizzles past me, grazing a part of my back that’s been exposed. But I register the pain only marginally. Xanas just suggested something unthinkable.

“No! No way I’m leaving you behind.” I turn around so that I'm mostly behind the cover of the wall as well, and peek out, my rifle leading the way. I'm just in time to catch the sandpeople making a dash to a boulder that's even closer. I fire off several controlled bursts, dropping three more, but the rest make it to cover.

“You will. The box will land in few seconds, and you’ll be running towards it and leaving me behind. You got that?” A blaster bolt catches me at my thigh, leaving behind a smoldering hole. My eyes are watering from the pain, and my teeth feel like they're about to shatter, they're clenched so tightly. I thought I'd killed the one with the blaster.. .apparently not. By now, the adrenaline rushing through my body is barely enough to keep all the pain and blood loss from the slug wounds at bay anymore. Gritting my teeth, I turn around to see that the box has finally touched down on the opposite side of the wrecked box from the sandpeople. Okay. Now or never.

I raise my wrist to my mouth and shout, “Tarkker, you lazy ass, wake the fuck up! I’m moving Farrayn out, so I need covering fire! If I don’t get it, the business end of my blaster rifle will be the last thing you ever see, you got me?” Not waiting for his answer, I sling my rifle over my shoulder and move to grab Xanas again, ignoring his feeble attempts to fend me off.   
  
“Mel, leave me!” I slide my arms under his and start to drag him out of the wreck towards the waiting box, ducking my head as the Tuskens break from cover and begin firing through the open doors of the wreck we just vacated.

“No, I’m getting you out of here and if it’s the last thing I do. Now shut up and cooperate.” The pain from my wrist makes me feel like I’ll lose my grip on Xanas at any second, and the slug wounds on my back and arm are bleeding freely. My left arm is drenched down to the finger tips in blood. My leg is on fire, and each step is agony. But now blaster bolts are coming from behind me and around me as well, and that gives me enough strength to finish the seemingly endless hike to the relative safety of the vehicle behind me. Suddenly, I hit something solid behind me, and when someone jumps past me and catches Xanas’ feet, I realize I've finally arrived at the box. We hoist the now unconscious Xanas into the box, and someone helps me climb into it as well. When I turn around it, I see a very familiar face.

“Got yourself in trouble again, huh?” a smirking Danna says. "You know, that's two favors you owe to Magic Inc."

“Can’t expect much more from a screw-up like me,” is all I answer, and then there’s only grateful oblivion surrounding me.

When I wake up again, everything is fuzzy at first, and sound is murky and undefined, like I'm underwater. It’s pitch dark, and I panic for a moment until I realize that my eyes are still closed. I squeeze them tightly shut for a moment more, and then slowly open them. The sudden presence of light, however dim, is a shock to my weary pupils, and they shrink to the size of pins. I wince at the sudden pain it produces, but keep my eyes open until they've adjusted comfortably.

“How nice of you to finally join us in the land of the living, Private,” a low growling voice to my right says. It takes me a moment to marshal my strength, but I finally manage to turn my head and look at the owner of the rather familiar voice. It's the Shistavanen MedCorps Captain, the one who chased of Dankin during my last stay in the field hospital.

“Sorry for being late, Captain. Had a hard time getting here, sir,” I say. Or at least I want to say it. What comes out instead is a pitiful sound, somewhere between a hoarse whisper and a bullfrog's croak. His canine jowls pull, revealing his sharp white teeth. Is that a smile, or is he contemplating devouring me for my insolence?

“Easy, Private. Try that.” He makes a signal with his hand, and my head is turned to the other side by a long-fingered gentle hand. Two big Mrlssi eyes are smiling at me, and the hand moves to support my head while the other brings a canteen to my mouth. Water hits my lips, and I try to swallow it. After a few embarrassingly unsuccessful tries, I finally get something down.

“So, how are you feeling?” the Shistavanen asks again, and I turn back from the nurse to face the doctor again.

“Like I’ve been run over by a herd of banthas, sir.” Gods, when will I learn to keep my mouth closed around inappropriate comments? One of these days, that mouth of mine will get me killed.   
  
The jowls are pulling back again. “I expected as much Private. Try to sit up, please.”

Slowly moving my arms, I expect them to hurt like they did when I was last conscious, but surprisingly nothing comes. So either I’m still high on pain killers or I’ve been out longer than I expected. Moving my arms underneath me to support my body weight, I finally manage to sit up-right. And I notice that maybe not everything is already healed as my wrist protests again, although a little more feebly than before. The Shistavanen Captain only nods his head as if in approval and marks something on his chart.

“Very well, Melara. Seems like the bullet wound in your arm has fully healed. Please lean forward.” I to as told and feel the back of my hospital gown lifted. A gentle hand pries lose the patch of bandage that’s been there and probes the flesh underneath it.

Then the Mrlssi nurse says, “It’s fully healed as well, Sir.” The Captain marks something off on his chart again.

The thing that comes next is the blaster wound in my thigh. When the nurse pries loose the bacta patch that’s been there for Gods know how long, a partially healed wound is revealed. The doctor grunts and marks something on his chart. Then he says, “I’ve got good news and bad news. Which of them do you want to hear first, Private?”

Taken aback, I hesitate and then say, “The bad, sir?”

His jowls are pulled back in that freaky smile again. What’s so damn funny about me, huh? “Very well. First the bad: You’re going to have to leave this nice little vacation spot here and report to your company CO when I’m done here. And now the good news: You’re almost as good as new. Your sunburn and light case of sunstroke are gone. The slug wounds you took on your back and in your arm have healed fully. You will have to wear a splint for a little while more, and the wound on the thigh will continue to bother you for a few more days, but other than that you’re fine. I want you to check back in three days, though.”

I nod. “Yes, sir.”

With that he again marks something on his chart, gives it to the nurse and then leaves the main tent. The nurse hands me a fresh set of clothing and boots and offers her assistance at gearing up, but I decline. Instead I ask, “Could you tell me… how long exactly I’ve been out of it?”   
  
The feathers on her head raise and then lie back again, but she still answers, “Three days, Private.” I pause. That caught me off-guard. Three days for those minor injuries?

“If I may ask… what happened to the others of my unit that came with me, Ma’am?”

For a moment, she lowers her head and sighs, and even that small gestures makes my stomach lurch. Xanas! No, please not now. Not after everything… “The annoying one did only have a mild sunburn and a few bruises and lacerations that needed to be taken care off.” Yeah, I would be like that, if I’d sat back to watch the show myself if I’d been Tarkker. You asshole. Just you wait. “The other one… it was touch and go for the last two and a half days, but we got a new shipment of bacta and could at least stabilize him. He's conscious, but he needs to stay here for at least another week.” Oh Gods, what did I do to deserve this unending mercy? What will you take from me for getting off so light this time?

I just finished tying my laces, and am now trying to avoid looking directly at the nurse. She really doesn’t need to see the tears of relief that are pricking at the corner of my eyes. “Thanks, Ma’am. Could I maybe… see him? Private Farrayn, I mean.” The feathers on her head are whipping with her head as she nods.

“Of course. Just follow me.” With that she draws back the curtains and I stand on shaky legs for a moment. Then I follow her over to the bed where a very pale Xanas is lying, staring at the nurse and me. I brace myself for the lecture I'm sure is to come, and step to his bedside.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, that's the first of currently four stories completed. Tell me how you found it?

**Six**

“Hey, Xan, how are you doing? Still being a lazy ass?” I say and give him a half-grin, trying not to let it show how much his overall weak appearance is affecting me.

He gives back something that could be a weak grin and says, “’s okay to take a little pity on me, Mel. Men like that.”

“Hey, I wasn’t…” He weakly raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I was. But you really don’t look like your usual charming self.”

“Charming self, huh?” He makes a sound that could be a low laugh, but fails. In the end, it comes out more like a cough. I want to reach out and pat his shoulder, just _anything_ , but I just stay there, a little awkwardly. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Yeah, charming self. The only thing that made me risk my life for your sorry hide.” I smirk, trying to sound nonchalant. I’m not sure if I manage that, though.

“Mel… about what happened in that fire fight…” I knew something like that would come. Something about being a moron for putting my life in the line or… “You did good there.” Oh. That’s something I wasn’t counting in. Trying to play down my embarrassment, I rub my neck and lean against the side of his bed.

“Yeah, well, if you don’t count letting myself be fooled by a decoy maneuver that’s older than the Sith and that I forgot everything of my first aid training and…” He drags his hand upon mine, making me half-turn to him.

“Mel? Do me a favor?” He's sounding uncharacteristically serious, so I lift my head to look him in the eye.

“Sure. Anything you want.” He smiles again, but it’s not one of his usual “I’m the Stars’ gift to women” smiles. More like a little sad. Huh?

“Just for once believe it when someone says you did good. Because it’s true.” For a moment, I’m at a loss for words. Turning down praise has become such a regular habit for me now that I’m actually unable to just take it and be happy about it. It takes all my will power not to throw back the snappy comment I already have on my mind.

“I… um… I’m going to try, okay? I just… I just don’t think anyone else will agree. I’m almost 100% sure Tarkker’s already been running around and telling his side of the story to about anyone who doesn’t want to hear it and…” I take my hand back and start fiddling with the end of my braid. That’s why I should wear my hair either short or pinned up: When I get nervous or frustrated I tend to fiddle around with my hair, and that habit makes me as easy to read as an open book.

“The people who count won’t believe him, and you know that. Now stop tearing at your pretty hair and do what you did in that fight.” I raise an eyebrow, and he takes another deep breath. I realize I shouldn’t be harassing him like that. Whatever happened after I passed out, it seems to have seriously taken its toll of him. But I still want to know what he meant. “You didn’t think about consequences or what people would say or anything… you just… _did_. And that was good. Just keep doing that.”

Before I can answer something though I’m saved by the bell. Or the Mrlssi nurse from before, respectively. “Sorry to interrupt you but we need to prepare Private Farrayn for the bacta tank now.” To my shame I have to admit that she actually spared me the embarrassment of not knowing what to say. Smiling apologetically, I get off the bed.

As the nurse moves into her prep work, I turn around to him again and say, “Gotta report to the Cap now. And you just… stay in your tank and… uh… get well again, okay?” Yeah, that was really smooth, Melara.

He smirks a little weakly still, but now definitely his usual charmer smile. “And after that we’ll see if there aren’t any other favors you can do me.” I guess I just turned as red as a Calamarian lobster again. Playing down the embarrassment, I stick out my tongue and then get out of the hospital as soon as possible, fervently hoping everyone who heard that comment will attribute it to the heavy painkillers Xanas must be on.

“Going somewhere, Melara?” I turn around, and there’s the bulky form of Sergeant Dankin standing right before me. Great. Just when I was on my way to Borlin’s office tent, I’m waylaid by the guy I want to see least – apart from that traitor Tarkker, maybe.

“Going to see Captain Borlin, sir?” I say, trying hard not to sound like I was talking to a primary school kid and suppressing raising my eyebrows in a way that says, “Are you retarded or what?”

“There’s no need for that. Borlin doesn’t need to be pestered with your silly blabbing. If there’s anything you think worth telling, then tell me. And fast, because I got a lotta other things to do.” What the…? What drove that guy to think he actually had any right to override an officer’s order? What the hell happened in the four days I’d been out of camp – so to speak, I mean.

“With all due respect, sir: I don’t think so.” He smirks. That usually means trouble. But, oh well, crossing Dankin’s path _always_ means trouble.

“That’s right, Melara, you don’t think. You follow orders. And I order you to give your report to me.” I’m almost ready to explode now. Compared to a few minutes with Dankin, the hours in the desert were almost refreshing. But how to answer without making him go off all over the camp?

“I don’t think Captain Borlin would be very pleased if you…”

“Captain Borlin gives a shit about what I do with you. Ever since Corporal Tarkker reported.” I can only barely keep from letting my jaw fall to the ground. _Corporal_ Tarkker? This is a terrible mistake. This just _has_ to be a mistake. And what lies did that dirty little _shutta_ tell Borlin and Dankin? “Now, you got thirty minutes to finish your report. Better get started.”

With that – and an unbelievable dirty smirk – he turns and briskly walks away. What the…?

“Look what the Felinx dragged into the sun.” With a snappy remark on my tongue I whip around – and promptly twist the still injured leg – to face the one who addressed me, only to realize that he was just fooling around. That shuts me up immediately, because I see it’s Magic, Kierse and Danna, all three of them grinning. What is it about me and people loving to startle me?

“Uh, yeah, uh nice to see you, too, guys.” Very eloquent. Really well-spoken. Melara, you idiot.

“That’s exactly what he wanted to say, Jenna. Really,” Danna says and gives me a half-smirk.

I know they are just joking around, but why do they always start mocking me when I’m in no mood to actually find it funny, too? I mean… I just had a very weird talk with Xanas, got cryptic remarks and a totally nonsense order from Dankin and my leg is slowly starting to kill me again. Before I can say something, though, Korwin beats me to it and says, “Okay, girls, we’ll just head towards chow and see you there, huh?” With that he gives Kierse a short look and they are gone, leaving me and Danna behind.

I’m impressed. That was a surprising display of subtlety. For Korwin, at least.

Danna coughs. “You know, sometimes I don’t know whether to hug or to shoot them.”

A little startled, I can only answer with, “Huh?”

“Well… my boys… they can be a little traitorous at times. But then you still gotta love ‘em because you know deep down that they only do what they think is best for you.” Oh, okay, I get it. It’s still about the yelling thing from a few days ago. Obviously Danna was more intimidated than I thought and the boys just wanted us to reconcile. She's right. Sometimes you really don’t know whether to love them or shoot them.

“I’d hug them, if I was in your place.” Our eyes meet, and after a split second, she smiles at me. Good grief, I actually held my breath until she did.

“They were really worried, you know. When word got out that your box didn’t arrive, I mean.” Obviously something in my face told her I wasn’t quite sure what I should do with the “ _They_ were worried”-information, because she adds, “But no one was worried enough to join the SAR-team, you know.” No one apart from her. Alright, I get the hint. But what to say?

“Danna… I’m sorry for what happened in the hospital tent. I shouldn’t have…” A wave of her hand shuts me up.

“You know, I shouldn’t have provoked you. I should have known you wouldn’t react well to me teasing you like that, and I still did. I’m sorry.” To be honest: I’m not sure as how to react to that. I expected… I don’t know what I expected. I just wanted to stay clear of her for a while, feeling like something between us… shifted. But now she’s here, and she’s waiting for an answer. Plus my leg and the heat seriously start to get at me.

“Look… we both weren’t acting exactly friendly that day. Let’s just… I don’t know… be a little more careful around each other, okay? And… uh… Danna?” Gods, there goes my eloquence. I sound like a frigging teenager. I’ve been sounding like that a lot in the past months. Really should work on that.

She raises an eyebrow. “Yeah?”   
  
I try a smile. “Thanks for joining the SAR team.” And caring enough about me to possibly go against Korwin’s or anyone else’s orders with that. I just hope she gets the things I didn’t say.  
  
Letting a little relief show through, she grins and says, “Should have seen the fit Magic threw when we came back. Join me for chow and let me tell you?” It’s a very blunt peace offering. I’d be an idiot not to take it.  
  
“Sure.” This time, the smile is real.   
  
And while we turn for walking to the mess tent, her grin grows wider, as she starts to talk. “So, we had just gottn you and Farrayn and that idiot they call Tarkker out of the box when suddenly Magic came charging onto the landing zone…”   
  
While she’s going on talking, I try to hide a little smile, thinking that I might be still a screw-up, but a screw-up with friends. And that’s all it takes to make a difference wider than the Dune Sea.


End file.
